


Save My Cold, Dead Hearth

by Jackretto



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Minor Character Death, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-09-05 06:03:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16804894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackretto/pseuds/Jackretto
Summary: At first glance, you wouldn’t give him more than 15 years. He was short, his hair was styled in quite the unique way: a gravity-defying cowlick at the top and a downward cascade on the right, the color of gold. Or the color of wheat, not that in Niflheim grew any of course. His eyes didn’t let any emotion other than indifference slip past, two frozen lakes of purple-ish blue.  Given his slight build and seemingly bubbly personality you would never guess his occupation, most would mistake him for a student or your everyday store clerk, but no one would easily pinpoint him for what he really is: a gun for hire. Under the disguise of a joyful teen hides a systematic murderer, a hitman, and a professional at that.





	1. Prelude

At first glance, you wouldn’t give him more than 15 years. He was short, his hair was styled in quite the unique way: a gravity-defying cowlick at the top and a downward cascade on the right, the color of gold. Or the color of wheat, not that in Niflheim grew any of course. His eyes didn’t let any emotion other than indifference slip past, two frozen lakes of purple-ish blue. Given his slight build and seemingly bubbly personality you would never guess his occupation, most would mistake him for a student or your everyday store clerk, but no one would easily pinpoint him for what he really is: a gun for hire. Under the disguise of a joyful teen hides a systematic murderer, a hitman, and a professional at that.

He was just someone who got kicked in the gut by the world one time too many and got back up in the worst possible way, the kind of person that grows to think that a smoking barrel and a suitcase full of gils at the end of the day were the best things in life.

Paradoxically, his life was the easiest it’s ever been.

In the past, when “normal” kids would have been busy playing with toys, he was being told how to maintain a rifle.

When “normal” children would have been studying at school, he was being thought how to hit a moving target from 500 yards.

When “normal” people would be happily spending their time with their families, he was being forced to let go of his emotions and not to show remorse after shooting point blank at an unarmed man, crying and begging for his mercy.

As time went on killing became routine, he wasn’t surprised when someone hired him to kill the man he called “father”, even if “mentor” or “owner” were better names to call him. He didn’t even do so much as to shed a tear while he watched life slowly bleed out of that man.

Days went by just like his contracts, life after life taken: rich people, public figures, politicians… he didn’t really care. His only policy? 100% success rate, quicksilver guaranteed.

* * *

Today, he sat at his usual table, in the back room of a nice little café in Gralea, the only city in Niflheim where people could afford heating, but most importantly, the only place people knew where to find him.

quicksilver remained there, slowly sipping his tea and waiting. The longest he ever waited for someone to show up was 3 days, spent in some cold alleyway. It was one of his first jobs after the “tragic” loss of his mentor.

A drunkard offered him a bottle of rum to kill another useless member of society, some small drug dealer who wronged him in some way. Easy, no one cared if another criminal went missing. He surely grew since then, now very few people could afford his services and even fewer people had jobs interesting enough for him to care.

The trip in his memories was suddenly interrupted by the sound of the waitress clearing her throat, her brown eyes widened with immense tension as soon as their gaze met.

“th-there is someone who wishes to see you” she nervously blurted.

Without wasting a word, he simply nodded and put his now empty mug on the table, the only sounds in the room were the coaster clattering and the shuffling of the waitress to tell his “guest” to come in.

Sure, he killed some people right in front of her eyes in that very room, but she shouldn’t be so scared around him.

That is if no one put a hit on her.

Soon, a man around his forties, well dressed and sporting a pair of expansive looking glasses entered the room, extremely nervous and agitated. Quicksilver thought two things at that moment, that the man was either hiring a gun for the first time or sent here to kill him, that wouldn’t have been the first time something like that happened to him.

“good evening, sir” said the uneasy stranger.

The hitman simply looked at him and raised a bit his eyebrows, already cocking his pistol under the table.

“I have a message to deliver to Quicksilver, that’s you, right?” the man proceeded to grab something from inside his coat, the blonde killer’s grip on the gun tightened, ready for action.

A message? This is new…

“Indeed I am. But this is not a post office, if someone wants to hire me they better speak to me in person. Our business is concluded” he grunted.

“My employer told me you would have probably turned me down” the messenger took an envelope from a pocket inside his coat and gently placed it on the table” that’s why he gave me a little gift to persuade you”

The envelope contained a square piece of paper with an address written on it, to a building site, if he remembers correctly and a few really high-cut banknotes. It was more than his fee for a target and it was only a present? Something was wrong,

“Tell your employer he has my attention” This was most certainly a trap but, hey, eliminating the competition a good thing for him too. “when?”

“Tomorrow night, at 4 AM sharp”

Why the hell people always chose these ungodly hours to meet? It’s not like the police really enforced the law in that cold gods forsaken hole he called ‘home’.

“Until then” Quicksilver replied, raising his hand and waving to the door. He had preparations to do.

The messenger left without saying another word, or if he did the young murderer didn’t hear him, he was too deep in his thoughts. It was an unusual request, and probably the building site would just explode as soon as he stepped in the meeting spot. Besides, he had nothing to lose, no one would have mourned him and he didn’t have anything more interesting to do.

* * *

The next day was spent at a bus stop in the outskirts of the city, right in front of the building site, Surveying the area of the meeting and observing the best spots from where he could be ambushed. When the time came he checked if his gun was loaded and walked battling the cold wind towards the derelict site, comforted by the familiar weight of his pistol hitting his hip with each step.

Only one man was in sight, standing in the middle of an under construction parking lot surrounded by big concrete columns. His face covered by the shadow of a fedora, his body hidden in a weirdly colored coat, the only hint that he wasn’t some kind of statue were the puffs of vapor coming from his mouth and being illuminated by the moon as soon as they cleared the hat’s shadow

“You must be Quicksilver, welcome!” cheered the man, spreading his arms as to hug the air “I do believe we have some business to discuss”

Quicksilver didn’t like this situation; no one was so happy to be hiring a killer. “You know my name, but I’m afraid I didn’t catch yours, Mr.?”

“That is not important, what matters is that I have a task only you, I believe, can accomplish”

The hitman had been in this scenario in the past, someone trying to keep him busy talking while a sniper cautiously aimed for his head. Quicksilver quickly drew his gun and placed himself so that the man was between him and the spot he, during his survey, deemed best fit for a sniper.

“Spit it out already! What do you want?” barked the killer

As if on cue the sound of multiple guns cocking broke the cold silence and a few men appeared from behind the columns, all aiming at him.

This will be nasty, he thought.

“now, now… We don’t want to escalate into violence, do we?” said the man, face still hidden in the shadows “I’ve called you because I have a goal, something many tried and just as many failed, something only people like-“

“Cut it short, I just want a name and some specifications, keep the theatrics to yourself” Quicksilver interrupted him while holstering his gun, he had to play it wisely.

Well, at least this is not an attempt of some competitor to get rid of him, apparently.

“Noctis Lucis Celum, crown prince of Lucis, regarding the method do as you please. The time? As soon as possible”

Quicksilver laughed.

It was a while since the last time he did, but now he was laughing like he heard the funniest joke in Eos.

His amusement abruptly stopped when the stranger took a step back, revealing his face in the moonlight. The chancellor of Niflheim smiled seeing how big the gunman's eyes became.

“As you might imagine I certainly am here not to joke and I can be quite rewarding too. Ten million up front and fifteen at job completed”

Quicksilver couldn’t believe it: the chancellor of the motherfucking empire was recruiting him to kill one of the most protected people on Eos.

Wanting to test his luck he quickly blurted “20 million upon completion”

The chancellor smiled.

“Deal.”


	2. A name?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be back, I promise. Take care, ok?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I wasn't expecting any feedback and even less so many hits, thank you from the deepest pit of my heart!  
> I'll update this fic weekly, expect an update in either the last three days of every week. :)  
> thanks again for the support!
> 
> -Jack

Quicksilver came back from the meeting completely electrified, he still couldn’t believe the chancellor himself was giving him a job that would probably settle him for life! He still had to get the hit done so planning first, euphoria later he told himself.

He was back at the coffee shop, closed for the night. Once the killer arrived home he immediately headed to his little room trying to get some sleep. After hours of turning and trashing the young hitman decided he was too excited to actually rest so he started planning in his head his next moves.

First, he needed to figure out how to get in Insomnia…

He had never been there but considering the information he gathered from his sources in the past, there would be no way to sneak past the wall. The only way in was crossing one of the gates.

That meant getting past a checkpoint, so he needed valid documents

Then he would need to locate the prince and stalk him for some time, making a schedule of the royal's day-to-day activities.

finally, he needed weapons and only then he would decide how to terminate his target.

Making the actual hit wouldn’t be the hardest part, for that he could just blow the target's head from afar with a scoped rifle. The hardest part would be getting out of the city since the second after the prince was found dead all the gates would be shut tight, no one gets in and no one gets out until the killer is captured.

Quicksilver was quite passionate about not being executed, so he needed a better plan.

The best approach would be getting close with the prince enough that he would be allowed to be alone with the target for an extended period of time. Time that he would use to off the royal and run out of the city before anyone found the corpse.

It will take a lot of time and effort to get the prince’s bodyguards to trust him enough to leave the two alone.

There were still a few details to think about, like how to get rid of his retainers if the need arose, where to get the guns once inside the city and what to do if his initial plan went apeshit but now he was tired enough to get some sleep.

* * *

The gunman woke up in the early morning, readier than ever to start his day. After getting dressed in his usual black suite and locking his room, he went in the patron’s part of the cafe to have a nice breakfast, he didn’t know when he’d be coming back and the first thing he will surely miss is the coffee shop pastries.

“Good morning, silver!” chirped Cindy, owner of the café and his closest friend. Just as usual she was covering the morning shift between the tables.

“Morning” The hitman replied in a raspy voice.

Cindy was the only person who was able to see behind the disguise he worked so hard to put on.

Most people would just see a weapon that without any master kept doing what a weapon does, but deep down he was just a damaged teenager who got stripped of his youth, not some blood-craving monster and all it took for him to open up to Cindy was just a bit of kindness and trust. “I’ll have a coffee and a caramel cookie please.”

“Coming right up! Are you leaving again?” asked the waitress already knowing the answer. Silver, as she liked to call him, didn’t have a lot of habits because according to him ‘being predictable makes you an easier target’. The only habit the hitman had was ordering his favorite food each time he was setting off for a hit.

“Yup!” cheerily answered the gunman once Cindy was back with his order.

“if this goes the right way it might be my last one.” he said while nibbling on his cookie.

A little tear almost found its way out of Cindy’s eye.

“Be careful”

She lost her family too soon and too tragically, her childhood spent alone in the snow fending for herself still haunted her dreams. Cindy was really lucky when the late owner of the coffee shop she now owns took her in and treated her as his daughter. When years later she found an injured and starving kid in the snow Cindy decided to pay back to the world the kindness her adoptive father showed to that young orphan so many years ago and took him in the coffee shop like a brother. Even after discovering what the kid was and what he had done Cindy didn’t turn her back to Silver and since then he lived under her roof, helping the café economically and keeping ill-intended people away.

Every time Silver left she couldn’t sleep, tormented by the possibility of losing the last bit of family she had and the fact that this hit ‘could be his last one’ both unsettled and calmed her.

If this was the last, Silver would be paid enough money to spend his days with her in the coffee shop indefinitely, without risking his neck every day. But if he would be paid so much it also meant the chances of success were really slim, who the hell was he asked to kill?

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be back, I promise.

Take care, ok?”

And with that, he was gone. Like always, leaving on the counter much more than he owed for his breakfast and reciting the usual promise he made every time.

* * *

With a brisk pace, he headed for the slums of Gralea. An overall shitty area but right there was ‘The Hotel’, the only place where you could find every illegal good and service. In this case, he needed someone to forge documents so well not even Insomnia border guards would notice they were fake, and he knew just the right person.

Not too long after, he reached his destination. An old and run down building once a luxury hotel and now a mix between a brothel, an illegal market full of the most disparate drugs, guns, poisons and the like. Of course, The hitman didn’t like the place but he never let it show on his face.

The red door of the building was guarded by the same two goons every day; it wasn’t the first time he went there but he always loved the way they tensed up each time he approached them.

“hold up… sir, you’ll have to get frisked before getting in. No weapons past this door.”

He simply nodded, deposited in a little cache by the floor his revolver and the small knife he always carried and spread his arms to get patted down. Silver wasn’t too scared of being unarmed in a familiar place, he would have almost no difficulty in finding a weapon if he needed one but the market security did their job well enough for both the customers and the workers not to get worried about their safety.

Past the checkpoint, his nose was assaulted by the same unpleasant smell each time, something akin to bleach mixed with vomit and alcohol but he pressed on, towards the market, ignoring all the hookers asking the same lame lines to each potential customer.

Between the ‘hello, sugar’ and ‘looking for a good time?’ he found what he was looking for, a small room on the underground floor marked with the number 55, a room he had been too many times in.

“Come in!” replied a raspy voice after Silver’s usual 3 quick knocks.

“Ah, it’s been some time kid!” said the old man as soon as the hitman opened the door. “What d’ya need?”

‘the old man’ as everyone called him, was the best smuggler probably in the whole country and a long time contact for Quicksilver. He looked just like every old-timey niflheimian citizen, long curly white hair, a huge pair of mustaches supported by a thin, old body covered in a huge coat.

The old man could get his customers everything they asked if they had the money, that is.

“I need documents. To get in Lucis” the gunman replied coldly as always.

“Goin’ outta town eh? You don’t look Lucian for shit so an Insomnian passport ain’t a good idea”

“So what” added the gunman sitting on a small couch in the room.

“So I’m going to make you a Tenebrae issued one, What’s the name?” replied the old man taking from a nearby table a piece of paper, a pen and a pair of glasses thicker then Silver’s favorite binoculars.

A name? He didn’t ever think he would need one…

‘Quicksilver’ didn’t sound Lucian and the only names he went by were either that or…

The ‘name’ his father gave him but he doubted any Lucian’s name was as similar to a telephone number as his former name, so that was a no.

“What do you suggest?” asked Silver, lost.

“How about…

Prompto Argentum, eh? Ain’t no one knows you in Lucis right? And it’s simply a translation of Quicksilver, you should find it familiar”

Prompto… He never imagined one day he would have a name, and even less that an old, greasy smuggler would be the one naming him. That was ok though, he did even stranger and worse things for his job.

“Come here, look at the camera and smile” ordered the smuggler.

Prompto was confused “Why?”

“To get the photo, kid…” exasperatedly answered the old man just before blinding him with the flash from an old camera.

“And just a lil' piece of advice: cover your tattoo, kid. Now out.” Stated the old man. “come back in a few hours”

“Thanks, see you soon.” replied Quicks- no. Prompto, leaving some money on the table and heading to the market to buy a few things.

Between untraceable firearms, drugs and various stolen goods, he found what he was looking for: a camera, a duffle bag, and some summer clothes. From what he knew Lucis was way warmer then Niflheim, so warm it only snowed in the coldest winter days.

While waiting for his papers to be ready he started planning his trip: He would say to the border guards he was a photographer from Tenebrae coming to Insomnia for a job interview at the Insomnia Daily. Sure, they could ask him for proof but he could just hand whoever nosey crownsguard a few thousand gils, the key to all doors.

Then he would find and follow the prince, snapping photos of his day to day activities. He will think about how to actually kill his target once he knew more about the royal and in the meantime, he will look for a place to acquire equipment. Namely a gun, some bullets and a first aid kit, better safe than sorry.

Not too long after his papers were ready; his suite discarded in a trash can in the ‘hotel’ in favor of a sleeveless black shirt, a pair of jeans and some black and white boots. Prompto left the two entrance guards his weapons, he will get them back once he returned and set off battling against the cold wind pushing him away from his destination: Gralea Central Train Station.

With just enough money not to seem suspicious and a truckload of magazines bought at the store inside the station Prompto was ready for the long trip to the kingdom of Lucis.

* * *

A little more than a week of total boredom later his restful sleep was being disturbed by someone shaking his shoulder and gently saying “Sir? This is the last stop, Hammerhead”

He quickly opened his eyes and the sight of a spectacled face with thin mustaches greeted him. Fumbling for his bag Prompto groggily replied

“thank you.

Do you know a way to get to the crown city by any chance?”

“Sure, take the bus for the east. Labeled ‘Insomnia’ you can’t go wrong.”

Thanking the man again Prompto got out of the train, stretching his legs and checked his pockets for the passport just in case he needed it and headed into a diner to have something to eat. This would be quite the boring day, he thought.

Prompto picked a seat near the entrance and ordered whatever dish of the day the diner had in the menu. Right while he was digging through a serving of fries a singular looking woman came in, the first thing he noticed was her long, silver hair, the second thing was the two people closely following her. Something about the woman made Prompto’s nerves jump up in alarm, years and years of training made too easy for him to recognize the strange metal harness on the woman’s back as a holster for a spear, and a big one at that given from the size of it.

The two men following her wore military looking uniforms but Prompto couldn’t recognize any of their insignias, mercenaries maybe?

“It’s not that different from some other contracts we had in the past” the woman said to the two… subordinates?

“Yes but the risks are high, with the peace talks and all that” replied the shorter of the two.

They surely weren’t with Prompto on the train so they must have just arrived. He really hoped this would be the last time their path crossed.

Were they engaged to kill the prince too, Wondered the gunman?

Unlikely. Killing an heir to the throne couldn’t be a ‘contract just like the others’.

He would have liked to eavesdrop longer but his bus was departing so the hitman hurried outside the diner and quickly found an empty seat on the bus.

Destination? The Crown City, Insomnia.


	3. Step one: Easy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The killer wondered if he kept doing his job because it was really the only thing he could do well or because he absolutely needed to feel something. Rage, pain, fear, were all better than not feeling anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay but I've been sick this weekend.  
> Thank you all again for your support, you have no idea how much it means to me.
> 
> I've always been amazed at how writers were capable to make their readers escape reality with their words and minds alone. This is one of the first things I muster up the courage to post on the internet, and even if only one of you kind people felt the same dreamy feeling reading my work, I'd mark this as a huge accomplishment.
> 
> thanks again.  
> -Jack

The trip was shorter than what Prompto was expecting, soon the bus arrived at the stop just outside the wall and left after its passengers disembarked.

Quicksilver had seen and climbed big walls in his life but this, this wall was HUGE! He knew Insomnia was more “old-fashioned” compared to Gralea, however, the killer was expecting some sort of high tech mythril fortification instead of what looked just like a plain concrete wall.

Suddenly remembering that he had work to do, he hurried at the end of the line of people slowly walking inside an equally huge gate. Passed the gate, he found himself in a really large room lined with security booths, metal tables and turnstiles in the middle.

One way in; one incredibly guarded way out.

If things went down now he wouldn’t know how to get out of there alive, let alone without hurting any innocent.

Prompto was a cold-blooded killer and would have no problems in getting rid of whoever interfered with his work: knowingly or not, lethally or not.

However, he totally despised putting other innocents and big crowds of people in unnecessary situations of danger. The hitman vastly preferred to execute his jobs in secluded places, in the quickest and painless way possible.

His last hit, for instance.

Some sort of inconvenient politician accepting bribes from the wrong people and refusing those from the “good” ones instead. The guy had a family so his house wasn’t a good place to strike, his office tough…

Get on the roof of building on the other side of the road in the evening; wait for him to get ready to leave and end him with a well-placed bullet in the chest through his window. Easy and clean.

A lot of time passed since he learned those things but the words kept coming back to his mind just as if he was listening to them all over again.

“Always aim for the center of mass. In between the shoulders and a little down.”

“Even if the name says otherwise, a suppressed shot can still be heard quite well. Once you pull the trigger you don’t have much time before someone comes to investigate or worse, calls the police.”

Today he kept hearing the same obnoxious voice reminding him to remember where all the exits are and in which positions are his enemies at any given time.

This time though, if Prompto messed up in some way, he wouldn’t get “corrected” just to recover and getting beaten up again. He wouldn’t have to starve until the only family he had decided the young killer had behaved good enough to get a slice of bread.

This time, if Prompto messed up, only the cold embrace of death would be waiting for him. That wasn’t an issue though, he was used to the cold.

Just as usual, he didn’t feel anything. Not fear, not regret, nothing.

The only times the killer felt anything at all was either the peace and calm when he was with Cindy or the euphoria when he was about to terminate a target. Prompto loved the adrenaline rush that came with the pull of a trigger.

He liked the feeling of an oozing wound and the needle sewing him back, the relief-induced laughter that came out with successfully hiding from pursuers or the smile that crept on his lips looking at the corpse of a tough opponent he just killed in hand to hand combat.

Other than that, Prompto loved feeling the familiar weight of his weapons in his arms, the slight heat on his hands, the kick of the gun, the splatter of blood on himself and on the walls around him, the satisfying sound of a spent casing bouncing on the floor or hitting the snow.

The killer wondered if he kept doing his job because it was really the only thing he could do well or because he absolutely needed to feel something. Rage, pain, fear, were all better than feeling nothing at all.

“papers please.” 

Prompto was so distracted that he didn’t notice it was his turn at the security checkpoint.

“Put the bag and any metallic item on the table, then come here please.” The crownsguard said with a bored yet professional tone.

He gave his passport to the guard, left his duffle bag on the metal table near the security booth and walked over a second crownsguard with a hand-held metal detector that started to scan him.

Prompto could hear someone opening and rummaging in his bag, good thing he didn’t bring anything suspicious.

“Reason of your visit?” asked the crownsguard after putting away the metal detector and picking up a clipboard.

It was time for the killer to wear his mask. Plastering a huge smile on his face he replied with an upbeat voice.

“Busyness” eh, it wasn’t even a lie.

The crownsguard checked some boxes in the form.

“Time of your stay?”

“4 weeks, if I nail the interview it might be longer though” Replied Prompto, he used to struggle so hard in the past not to seem unsuspicious but now he felt something similar to a switch in his mind.

Every time he pressed it, the silent hitman would turn into a happy go lucky teenager with a bubbly personality. He found this thing both useful and disgusting, Prompto didn’t like to lie.

The crownsguard put a couple of stamps on the paper he was writing on and handed it to Prompto along with his bag.

“Sign here and head over to the Insomnia Immigration and tourism office in a month’s time. Failure to do so would end with an arrest warrant on your name.”

The killer almost wrote ‘Quicksilver’ but modified the ‘Q’ enough to look like a ‘P’ and signed with his new alias.

Without even bidding him goodbye the crownsguard called someone else forward and Prompto started walking towards the exit.

Step 1, get into Insomnia: Complete.

As soon as he exited the room Prompto was in awe, he had never seen so many people walking in the streets! Gralea was so cold that you’d never find more than a handful of people on the sidewalks but here? The roads were so full of people that finding someone would be quite the challenge.

Luckily, his target wasn’t ‘just someone’

What’s the best way to find the country’s most important person? He asked himself…

Easy, gossip.

The hitman went to the small shop near the inner gates to buy a map and a few magazines to gather information. Nowadays maps could only be bought in tourists spots since everyone had a smartphone. Prompto would have liked to own one but he found the thought of having a traceable device on him absolutely terrifying.

After almost a full hour spent looking between useless news on ‘Insomnia latest fashion trends’ and ‘what is the best color for this summer?’ the killer found what he was looking for:

‘The royal prince leaves the nest in favor of a fancy apartment in the suburbs’

Bingo! Not too many information, but one of the pictures in the article depicted some café called ‘The Dizzy Moogle’, he could ask for directions to it.

It was getting dark, and black clouds started to obscure the twilight washing the streets in its warm glow, replacing the calm feeling with the threat to downpour. Fuck, he didn’t think about finding somewhere to sleep! Luckily the map marked a few hotels and the nearest one was just a few blocks from the gate.

This hotel was so much different from the ones he used to sleep in Gralea. Its paint was a spotless white, the glass of the windows still intact and there were flower pots at every balcony.

The hall wasn’t that big, just a couple of couches and a counter, behind which sat a young lady with the hotel uniform.

“Good evening and welcome to ‘The Gate’ hotel. May I help you?” asked the woman.

“Yeah, a single bedroom for 4 weeks. Is there one with a view of the citadel?”

Of course, he was too far from the citadel to actually see something, but he found the building fascinating, imposing, yet peaceful…

After giving his passport to the reception and taking his keycard, the killer headed to his room on the last floor.

Small, easily defendable and the window gave an excellent emergency way out. After calling the reception and warning that he didn’t want any room cleaning, the killer decided to get some sleep. Tomorrow he would have to confirm the contact of his target and to find somewhere to buy equipment.

* * *

Prompto got up right before the sunrise, just as he had been conditioned to do. After asking the receptionist for directions to ‘The Dizzy Moogle’ he set off for the café.

The café wasn’t anything special, a pricey place in the nicest part of the city. The killer ordered a coffee but it didn’t taste right, it was just like the one he would usually get at home but there was something missing…

However, he still needed to drink it not to look suspicious. He spotted at least 8 crownsguard in plain clothes and was unsure about a weird kid running around the café playing with a toy car. What’s the minimum age required to join the guard?

Nah, it was unlikely that a soldier would be allowed to play with toys on the clock, and Lucis wasn’t like niflheim regarding enlistment age requirements...

All of a sudden the guards at the door saluted a man dressed formally, sporting a gelled-up blonde hair and an expansive looking pair of glasses.

An officer? Unlikely.

Some politician? Maybe.

No, that was one of the prince’s retainers! Something… something… Scientia.

Prompto started counting, he needed to know how long the retainer and the prince would spend together. Usually, guards and their VIPs acted fast and laying low.

Once, to kill a politician he had a time window of only 40 seconds.

One thousand and one.

One thousand and two.

One thousand and three…

* * *

WHAT?!? THREE HOURS?

Did they go for the daily security brief of the century or what?

Anyway, the short, black haired guy in the car with Scientia must be the royal prince…

He was less… princely then what Prompto expected, but until now Insomnia was nothing like he thought so that was only fair.

The retainer drove slowly and it wasn’t too hard to keep up with the car while looking just like a normal jogger. The car stopped right in front of a school gate and as soon as the prince entered the building, the car drove off.

So the royal went to a common school…

Some sort of PR move?

Well, this info surely opened up to Prompto interesting ways to complete his task... 

Enough stalking for today, he needed somewhere to buy ‘equipment’. He knew pretty much nothing about the city but some things are universal: looking for illegal stuff? Find some drug junkie and follow him to the shady part of the city.

Just a couple of hours spent at a bus stop, Prompto found his candidate:

Bloodshot eyes? Check.

Face paler than snow? Check.

Dark circles from lack of sleep? Check.

Arm littered with bruises from needles? Yup.

Some poor guy in extreme need for a fix.

After following him in some alleyway, Prompto put on his warmest smile and approached him. “Hey man, it’s been so long! How you holdin’up?”

“Wha… do I know you?” the stranger asked dubiously.

“Of course, man! Hey, you look a little pale are you ok?”

Prompto pulled from his poket a couple of hundreds of gils and counted them loudly enough for the guy to hear, then he threw the bait:

“You look like you could really go for a fix, this time is on me ok?”

The stranger was dumbfounded but didn’t hesitate to take the money, forgetting to try and remember if he actually knew the blonde kid gifting him gils and checking them as if he could really sniff out fake bills.

Prompto pressed on: “hey, since I helped you could you do a little favor for me?”

“de-depends, are you a cop? Because if you are I’ll let you know I ain’t need no fix, I use no drugs and…”

“Slow down, slow down!” Prompto interrupted him, lifting his hands as if surrendering “I just need an information but I can’t just ask anyone about it”

“Then spit it out.” said the man, pocketing the money and crossing his arms impatiently waiting for the conversation to end to go and buy his sugar.

“I’m looking for someplace to have ‘fun’, if you know what I mean. Problem is that I happen to have reeeeally particular tastes, so any place just won’t do. Also, money is not a problem for me, I want high-quality company and treats.”

The stranger, after looking around started rummaging in his pockets. Was he pulling out a gun? A police badge?

Prompto was ready to snap his neck if needed, his pupils going wide and starting to sweat until the stranger gave him a black and golden business card.

“If you have the coin, here you can get anything you need. Even that new niff synthetic kicks”

The killer took a long look at the card.

‘The Hive’ a club in between the business and the shady parts of the city.

“you sure you’re not a cop?” said the man.

Prompto didn’t respond, he was already walking to his hotel.

Of course, Quicksilver wasn’t looking for drugs nor prostitutes, but if someone was powerful enough to own both they could easily get him some top-notch equipment. First thing first he needed more money, He brought just enough not to be too suspicious. Luckily Cindy would have no problems sending him some through the mail.

Prompto never cared about money. What he earned through his hits was placed in the café’s safe, to which only he and his sister knew the passcode. Cindy knew what he would do with that money, and even if they had different views on Quicksilver’s work field the waitress found little relief in knowing that Prompto wasn’t a sadist.

She knew he carried out his jobs as humanely as a killer could, following some self-imposed rules:

1 No witnesses.

2 No torturing.

3 No hostages.

4 No kids.

5 No unnecessary suffering.

6 Ignore all of the above if necessary.

The cold lands of Gralea or the sunny streets of Insomnia had one thing in common.

There was always a need for people to pull a trigger for someone else. And Prompto? It just happened that he was the best of them all.


	4. I'd rather take a picture of your eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A first contact, unexpected situations, some new revelations and a wheelbarrow of sadness. Don't worry though, like the great Bob Ross once said:  
> “Gotta have opposites, light and dark and dark and light, in painting. It’s like in life. Gotta have a little sadness once in a while so you know when the good times come. I'm waiting on the good times now.”
> 
> and our good times will come in the next chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEYYY  
> Happy holiday to you all, kind people!  
> As a little present, I made this chapter longer than normal, I really hope you'll enjoy it.  
> Regardless of your beliefs, Christmas is a time to spend with the people you care the most. I wish you all and your loved ones a wonderfully happy 2019!
> 
> thanks again for your support.  
> -Jack

Finding the post office wasn’t so difficult but for some reason wording the letter was harder than it should be.

The killer bought all the material he needed with the little money he had left and sat on a chair inside the crowded mail office, legs crossed and pen in hand.

What if the crownsguard monitored all the letters going to Niflheim?

How can you even convey the message ‘send me a large sum of money inside a book or a magazine because I need stuff to kill people with’ without looking suspicious?

He had never been this far from home and for maybe the first time he was getting a bit homesick. Anyway, he went with ‘awkwardly asking for part of the content of the suitcase in his room and some more magazines’ and called it a day.

The letter was ready, how to sign it though? Quicksilver? Prompto?

Cindy didn’t know his new alias, and he couldn’t even sign it ‘your brother’ because if the letter fell into the wrong hands this would put a huge target on her head.

Burying his pride in the deepest pit of his soul, Prompto signed the letter with the nickname his sister called him, a name so vicious he would kill anyone who called him that, except Cindy of course.

‘Dear miss Aurum, would you kindly send me my medicine? I forgot to bring it, it’s inside the suitcase under my bed. Put in some magazines and books as well, this business trip is impossibly boring.

Send them to The Gate Hotel, Insomnia.

Thank you.

Shortcake.’

Prompto’s height was both a gift and a curse. He could crawl through any air duct or narrow path he wanted, plus it made him look younger than he really was. Even the fact that hand to hand combat was more difficult for short people didn’t really bother him, what really makes the killer eyeroll with ferocity was all the ‘are you the hitman? I expected someone older/taller’ or all the times Cindy used that ugly nickname in public.

* * *

Once the letter was sent he had nothing to do until he gets the money, so why not to put to use that camera he bought back home?

The hitman spent the afternoon snapping photos of anything that caught his attention: pedestrians, cars, trees birds…

The sun was starting to set, and Prompto was quite hungry. The killer only ate once a day, if at all so he wanted to eat nice things at least once in a while.

In his wandering around the city behind the camera a sushi shop caught his gaze. There was nothing unusual about the place, a big sign stating the name of the business, ‘Standing Sushi’ towered over the entrance and patrons could be seen sitting inside. The strange thing was that some people were way out of place: a couple of patrons kept looking around and at everyone who came inside and once in a while they’d put a hand to their ear and whisper something. Years of lip reading made it easy for the killer to understand what they were saying.

Things like: “This is 5, sitrep. Status green”

It didn’t take long for Prompto to count 10 mysterious people. Some walking outside, some sitting at the tables.

This situation was both interesting and unexpected. What was actually going on in there?

Since the killer had nothing better to do, it was time to investigate and to eat a little while he was at it.

Stepping inside the not so full restaurant, Prompto was hit by a comfortable warmth, the smell of inviting him to walk further inside. The place looked ‘standard’, nothing remarkable. The killer approached the register and started looking at the menu printed on a board near the ceiling as they have in some fast foods.

“Welcome to Standing Sushi, what would you like”

A somewhat bored voice asked him. Without looking away from the menu, the killer asked

“I’ll take a portion of spicy tuna rolls and a bottle of water. Is it possible to ask for extra sauce?”

“Sure.” Answered the guy. “anything else?”

“No, that’s all.” The killer paid with his last bill and waited in front of the cash register since no one was in line.

Looking at the worker, Prompto was stricken with a sense of familiarity. The killer was beyond sure to have seen that face somewhere, but where?

The cashier turned around to probably put away the money Prompto paid with and to give his order to the cook through the window behind the counter, but the hitman kept staring at the man.

The man didn’t look older than Prompto, he had a shock of not too long black hair styled in spikes by what must have been liters of gel and was wearing an apron of the restaurant… What was really captivating where the man’s eyes: A blue so deep to put sapphires in shame. Prompto never felt like this before, he felt like those eyes were digging directly inside his being, past all the masks and warming his soul.

His heart rate accelerated, was he poisoned? Was it even possible for him not to notice being poisoned?

What was that guy’s name? what did he like to do? Why was he suddenly interested to know these things?

“Sir? Your order” Said the man, bored.

The killer shook his head and muttered an apology for being distracted, sat at a table with a nice view of the counter and began eating while the cashier was looking at his phone.

The killer almost choked on his food when he realized he had indeed seen that aloof expression lately.

Lucis was a strange place, but why in the gods damned fuck was the crown prince working in a little sushi shop?!?!

His first reaction was to place a hand on his hip, where normally the killer had his holster but luckily he was unarmed, acting on impulse would mean jeopardizing the whole hit.

He had to keep calm and resist the urge to slaughter his target and what now he realizes are his bodyguards with a pair of chopsticks and complete the hit.

At least this was useful information. His target is not so much surveilled, after all.

The killer gave a last look at the prince and went back to the hotel to turn in for the night, he had lots of things to do tomorrow.

Somehow, he couldn’t sleep, a strange feeling of something missing pulling at his chest made it impossible for him to shut his eyes. Prompto went even so far as to check for poisoning symptoms but his pupils were normal, and so was his blood pressure…

After a couple of hours of turning and trashing, the killer finally managed to get some sleep.

* * *

The next morning, just as he was leaving the hotel lobby a voice called for him

“Mister Argentum? There is a package for you!”

Turning around, Prompto saw the same woman he rented the room from putting a big envelope on the counter

Thanking the lady, he sat on one of the couches in the lobby and read the label:

‘-URGENT- \\\\\SAME DAY DELIVERY/// Sender -Cindy Aurum’

Did she really go to the post office in the middle of the night?!?

The killer and his sister really needed to have a talk about safety. He was glad he could already get into motion but…

What if something happened to her? Gralea isn’t a safe place, especially at night and he was way too far to intervene if his careless sister was in danger.

That woman… That’s the reason his fathe- no. Handler didn’t want him to get attached to anything, let alone people.

However, he had the money and it was still dark outside. The killer fished in his pocket for the business card and started walking towards ‘The Hive’.

* * *

Finding the place took the killer more than it should. He expected a big building with guards and muffled music coming from inside but instead, the only clue about there being a club at all was a black and gold sign above a steep staircase.

The all too familiar reek of puke and alcohol hit him as soon as he opened the door.

The place looked just like any other club, a dancing floor on the left, a bar on the front and a series of doors on the right. House music filling the place and the overall theme of the whole club was gold and black, just like the business card.

It wasn’t the first time for the hitman inside a club and a quick way to see if the place was monitored by the police was to go and try to buy some hard liquor. Any club under police surveillance wouldn’t serve alcohol to who’s clearly a minor, hell, he shouldn’t even be allowed to get inside.

He sat on one of the stools in front of the counter and the bartender, busy cleaning a glass with a rug greeted him with just a shake of his head.

“A Galahdian behemoth, double, no ice.” Coldly said the killer placing a bill on the counter.

The bartender just shrugged and started pouring the strong smelling liquid in a glass. So the place wasn’t that strict about laws, eh…

Prompto spent the next half hour sipping his drink and examining the surroundings, years of poison resistance training made gulping down the alcohol in the glass not that much different from drinking a cup of tea to the killer, he didn’t even feel tipsy.

The security seemed tough, but no one carried lethal weapons, so far he counted two gorillas with tazers and 5 with nightsticks.

The dancing floor was still crowded with people that probably came the night before, some started to leave, some too drunk were escorted out.

Exits memorized, guard paths noted and glass empty.

It was time to act.

The killer got up and went to a security guard, putting on his coldest look the killer asked

“Do you happen to know where the owner is? I think we have some business to discuss”

A few whispers among each guard and some minutes later, he was being roughly patted down and being pushed through a series of doors and hallways until The killer found himself in front of who must have been the host.

The room was a small office with only a coeurl colored couch, a coffee table full of money, empty syringes and drug strips and an aquarium at the end of the room. An old man with a suit sat in the middle of the couch, his wrinkled face studying the blonde. Two girls, clearly under the influence of something and with little to nothing as clothes sat at the sides of the man. They were way too young for him.

The room was guarded by two really buff men who were standing behind Quicksilver, this time one was sporting a snub-nosed revolver on the hip and the other had a really nice and shiny semi-automatic pistol in his hands: nickel plated and completely covered by floral carvings.

Prompto’s brain immediately started to analyze the scene, just like it was conditioned to do.

Five people, two of which are clear threats; left threat had a 9mm semi-automatic; 12 shots and already deployed so his priority level was the highest.

The second man only had a 5 shots revolver, probably just a .38 special and would need a few seconds to draw. This gave Prompto a bigger window of opportunity.

“And who exactly are you, young fellow?” croaked the old man.

“My name is Quicksilver; I’ve been told I can get a few trinkets here.”

“Ah, and what kind of ‘trinkets’ are you looking for? This isn’t a toy store kid. Do your parents even know you’re here?”

said the man with a mocking tone that just made Prompto want to paint the walls red with his brains

removing the wristbands he covered his tattoo with, he looked at the man straight in the eyes and colder than ice, the killer stated

“The kind of trinkets that kill”

For a brief moment, the man appeared scared. Almost choking on his own spit but then burst into a laugh

“yeah, sure… how much did you pay the artist to get that tattoo? The Magitek Executioner Program is just a legend, kid” croaked the old man after regaining his breath.

The M.E.P.

Magitek Executioner Program, it had been ages since the killer heard these very words for the last time.

A memory constantly stalking his brain reminding him that he isn’t a person, but a mere object. In Gralea his tattoo was some sort of assurance, no one would even dare to look at the blonde in the eyes if they knew what he was… But that old fucker was digging up things that are better to leave buried in the past.

At that moment, Quicksilver… Prompto… ceased to exist for the time being, there was only 05953234 and it was beyond pissed. The need to rip and tear became impossible to resist.

It quickly disarmed the man on the left, grabbing his pistol and twisting the man’s arm behind his back, a loud ‘crack’ echoed in the room.

Before the other guard could even react, the hitman had already blown up his knee with a shot from his newly acquired gun.

05953234 or 0 for short wasn’t a man, it was a weapon, and what do weapons do?

They kill.

With its cheek bloodstained thanks to the guy now suffering on the floor, 0 pointed the gun at the scared old man. The only sounds in the room were the pained breaths of the person 0 probably broke the arm and the whimpering of the other guard slowly bleeding out, losing consciousness. The yelling of the two hookers running for the door only became louder.

0’s finger was slowly pressing heavier on the trigger, it had to choose.

Luckily, the battle for the shell 0 was abusing to inflict unnecessary pain was won by Prompto, and the murderous look in the eyes of the teen quickly dissipated.

“I am looking for a supplier, are you able to provide me the equipment I need?” the killer angrily spat out.

“sur-sure…” blabbed the man.

The killer smiled “I didn’t catch your name…”

“Auctor Verbosus… P-pleased to meet you”

Footsteps were approaching, Prompto tucked the pistol in his waistband and helped the bleeding man sit straight.

“WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING!” shouted someone who just came through the door. Prompto just shrugged and… hey! That’s the guy he met at the bus stop!

He was holding a shotgun, clearly he never shot one since he still had the safety on.

“Wait… But you are the fix kid! How in Bahamut’s name…”

Taking in the state of the situation, the guy lowered the gun and begun helping the injured man. More guards came in but after a while the room returned to be silently calm, except for the sound made by some poor worker scrubbing the blood from the floor.

“Grab pen and paper, this will be long” said Prompto

After the man he got to know to be Auctor’s nephew took a notebook and a pen, the killer went on pointing up a finger with each item he needed

“I’ll need: a 10mm handgun; suppressed and with at least 5 magazines.

Two ammo boxes, 10mm of course.

A pair of binoculars.

A knife, anything is good but something small would be better.

Holster, something I can fit under my shoulder.

Zip ties, the most resistant you can find

And a couple of fragmentation grenades.

That’s all.”

Prompto took a little pride in the way Auctor’s hands were still shaking, before turning to leave he took the wallet out of his pockets and placed a generous amount of money on the table

“This is for your two guys hospital bill”

Prompto started leaving but was stopped by the old man’s voice, who evidently found the courage to speak again.

“So it’s not a legend… how many of you are left?”

Prompto struggled not to turn back and finish what he started, he limited himself to just bark

“I’ll be back in two weeks’ time” and left the club.

As soon as he found an empty alleyway, the killer collapsed behind a dumpster and started to hyperventilate. It happened again, he let 0 take control and innocents got hurt.

No matter how many times Cindy repeated him that he was a person, that he was someone instead of something, 0 will always be there.

The blonde didn’t suffer from some form of double identity or anything like that, but when scientists make your body execute commands against your will it’s easy to justify one self’s actions by hating some non-existent second personality.

The truth? Prompto and 0 are the same exact thing.

The MEP didn’t fail as some people believe. The goal of the project was to create the perfect killing machines for the empire by taking newborns and training them as soon as they were able to grasp things with their hands. Sadly for some, luckily for some others, the project got defunded and every instance of it was terminated. Which is a nice way to say ‘every kid used for the project got killed and thrown into some incinerator’.

However, the head of the project: Dr. Versatel Besithia or ‘Father’ as he wanted to be called, managed to steal the most successful instance of the project, 05953234. Its only purpose was to be a war asset and Besithia hoped that by showing how powerful his creations were, the project could start again and he would become some sort of hero.

The madman didn’t anticipate a little thing though. While dehumanizing someone you shouldn’t give for granted the loyalty they have for you.

The kid became dangerously powerful and didn’t hesitate when he was tasked to end his owner. After all, his hits take the priority on everything eh? That’s just what he was thought. 

However, Prompto grew since then, he was trying to become a person instead of a weapon with a serial number for a name. That’s the reason he took this hit.

A way out that didn’t imply his death, a way out that would grant him a life without needing to kill anymore.

He was scared he was kidding himself though.

What if his maker was right? What if he was only a weapon? After a weapon has outlived its purpose it just gets thrown away, after all.

And here we are, behind a dumpster having a panic attack.

He was a disappointment to his maker, to Cindy and to himself.

Prompto was tired and cold, the only thing he wanted to do now was getting some sushi.

Weird, he didn’t even like sushi that much but Prompto already had an idea about where to get it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apparently yeah, it's canon that Noctis used to work at a sushi shop...  
> Can you imagine how difficult would it be to protect a VIP in such circumstances?


	5. Eliminating The Competition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto really needs this job, being booted out of the city would prevent him from being rich, and would make the chancellor really angry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the little delay and happy new year to everyone!

Prompto visited so frequently the sushi shop that he started keeping tabs on the prince and his bodyguards. Among them, one caught The killer’s attention: He was taller than average and really well built, the kind of ‘well built’ that even someone as experienced as Prompto would think twice before engaging in close quarters combat. Two things differentiated him from the other Crownsguards: a huge tattoo of a bird on his shoulders and arms; and the way he treated the Prince. Other Kingsglaives behaved professionally in the presence of their charge, this buff guy? He treated the prince like he wasn’t the state most important person, mocking and sometimes even reprimanding him. If the need to fight him arose, Prompto would really like to have a gun.

How was this man still breathing? In Niflheim even just looking at some government official in the wrong way would get your head displayed on a pike in less than 24 hours.

A couple of weeks went by, the killer’s visits to the sushi shop were more and more common. Reconnaissance was fundamental for the success of any hit, however, one thing still puzzled the hitman.

All the powerful people Prompto had been tasked to kill in the past took their lives for granted, guzzling in their luxuries without a care in the world. Crown Prince Noctis? He looked almost always sad, detached. At first, the killer thought it was just because the prince hated that job but…

Prompto usually sneaked on the roof opposite the of the school he knew the prince attended, strangely unguarded and snapped pictures mainly at his target, even if sometimes the killer got distracted by cute dogs passing on the street. In every photo, the prince had this aloof expression, sleepy and sometimes sad. This detail, as small as it is really unnerved the killer. Someone like the prince had no reason to look always so crestfallen.

Was the prince hiding something? Was he just some sort of counter figure? A double?

Prompto never felt so compelled to dig into a target’s life, but he HAD to know why the most powerful man in the country acted so weird. The killer found that between the end of his highness shift and the arrival of scientia passed from 7 to 15 minutes on average, the kingsglaives would leave except for the tattooed one.

So, one day, after the end of the prince’s shift and before the arrival of the car Prompto decided to put on his best ‘I’m totally not going to kill you later’ smile and introduce himself. How not to look suspicious though? Easy, camera around the neck, city map at hand and casually passing by the prince on the curb outside the sushi place, Prompto broke the ice asking his target for directions.

“H-Hi man” The killer had forgotten how hypnotizing the prince’s eyes were “Sorry to disturb you but…”

the prince shook his head and opened his eyes wide as he noticed the blonde was speaking to him, checked for the position of the buff bodyguard that luckily remained inside the restaurant and returned to his usual bored expression, still looking at Prompto.

“I’m new around here and trying to nail an interview for the newspaper” Lifting his camera with his free hand he continued

“And I need to take a few ‘million gils’ shots of the citadel, do you know any place with a nice view?”

At first, the prince looked uncertain if to answer or not but then replied with a fake smile and a phony cheery voice

“You can get a mesmerizing view of the Citadel from the Royal Gardens, on top of the hill”

The target answered, Good. If next time Prompto pretended not to know Noctis was the prince he could strike another conversation and hopefully, his target will remember him from this little chat. All was good until the killer saw the prince’s tattooed gorilla getting closer, so he thanked the unaware target and went back to his hotel. Having trouble falling asleep that night too.

The days passed like usual, stalking the prince and sightseeing while waiting for his equipment to arrive at the club. Prompto was reading the news when all of a sudden a thought struck him: his temporary visa was almost expired and he didn’t even visit the place he was ‘supposed’ to have a work interview at!

If he needed to get close to the prince having an arrest warrant on his head would be quite counterproductive…

“Could you tell me the quickest way to reach the Insomnia Daily? I’m on a rush” Blurted Prompto to a hotel worker.

“Sure, take the subway’s yellow line for three stops, the place is a couple of minutes on foot by the station. You should ask for more directions once there.”

Last time Prompto ran like this he was trying to reach a boat he set for escape while being chased by dozens of murderous and angry criminals, now, he was on a rush against time to avoid a confrontation with probably some old and overweight Crownsguard. If life isn’t weird sometimes…

A few minutes later Prompto arrived at his destination, one of the biggest squares in the city and the big building covering the morning sun and towering over the plaza is the Insomnia Daily headquarters, presumed the killer from the hundreds and hundreds of signs displaying the name of the newspaper.

The lobby was pretty much what one should expect from any workplace: tidy, cheap furniture and busy people buzzing around.

“Hello, are you hiring?” spat Prompto, still out of breath.

“Sure, leave your resume here” answered an old looking woman in busyness clothes. A secretary, perhaps?

Fuck. He Didn’t have one. And even if he had one, he didn’t have anything to write inside!

‘Hello, my name is Quicksilver and I need this job just to disguise myself as a normal citizen instead of the regicide I’m trying to become’ wouldn’t work.

So the killer shot off towards literally any place that would allow him to use a computer and a printer, leaving the secretary baffled.

Luckily for Prompto, he found an open internet café not too many blocks far from the square, jumped on a free computer and started to look on internet how to make a resume. He settled it writing some basic information, the fact that he didn’t have any prior work experience but was quite skilled with any camera and some garbage about the fact that working for the Insomnia Daily would be the fulfillment of his greatest dream. Of course, it wasn’t enough to get hired, but he would find a solution later.

Another rush towards the newspaper HQ later, the killer caught his breath and approached the secretary’s desk.

“I apologize for before, I forgot my resume and cv in the bar I had breakfast in” Prompto faked a short laugh. “Where do I put it?”

The secretary just pointed towards a small stack of papers, others resumes given from the style and the pictures. Prompto had to get hired but giving a quick glance at the first guy’s resume, the killer had no chances in getting the job.

“Oh, sorry. Could you pick that up, please?” said the killer purposefully pushing his papers on the other side of the desk.

The older woman shot him a glare and slowly bent to pick up the papers. Prompto had just enough time to look at the other job applicant’s names and addresses that the old hag had already put his resume on top of the others.

“Come by tomorrow at 8 sharp.” Hissed the secretary.

Prompto didn’t answer, he had to ‘eliminate the competition’. Of course, he wouldn’t just kill some poor guys who had nothing to do with his job, he just needed to ‘dissuade’ them from going to the job interview tomorrow. For his position, photographer, there were 3 other applicants:

Pauper innoxius, near the hotel.

Comis Venustus, in the pricy part of the city

And

Caeruleum Ager, who lived next to Noctis’s school.

Man, Lucians have weird names.

It was already 11 in the morning, Prompto had to act quick, he Decided to start with Mr. Venustus, so he looked on his map how to reach his house and jumped on the first train in the subway. Not too long after, the killer had reached his destination, a modern two-story duplex in the high part of the city.

A few cameras but no additional security, good.

But how to convince this Priority Objective not to go tomorrow? Intimidation? Debilitation? Prompto needed more info to make a choice, so he started to examine the various entry points: The front door had a camera watching the patio, so that was a big no. The windows had an external set of bars, probably to discourage eventual burglars.

From one of the windows, the killer could easily see a skylight on the roof. Bingo! A perfect entry point, how to get there though?

The closest building was another duplex with no apparent cameras, and a good space of at least 4 meters separated the two roofs. Prompto had no problems climbing on the roof of the unguarded building, that was luckily empty. Once up the roof, the killer hid behind the chimney waiting for the street to be clear of potential witnesses.

Better not screwing this up, thought Prompto.

The hitman took quite the distance from the edge and being really fond of not falling several meters and becoming a pancake on the asphalt he took a running start and jumped.

The killer impacted with the edge of the other roof with his chest. he will feel this tomorrow… Gripping the border with all his strength Prompto pulled himself up, on his target’s roof.

Well, that was easy.

Quicksilver stumbled to the skylight and discovered it was open, that was good, even if the killer would have had no qualms in breaking the glass. Popping his head from the ceiling, the hitman saw no additional cameras and no one in the room.

Agile as a cat and quiet as a feather, Prompto jumped inside the living room and found himself in quite the expensive house.

Leather couch… trashy golden fixtures… mahogany furniture… but the target? The first thing the killer did was to look at the pictures affixed at the walls. between panoramas of Lucis and other photos from the dubious artistic value, Prompto only found pictures of the same guy on the resume, Mr. Venustus. Good, this meant no family. Not that the killer planned to kill the innocent Venustus, but he was already thinking on how to make his rival to miss the appointment.

The heavy snoring coming from a closed door revealed to Prompto the location of his new target, not a morning person, eh? Mr. Venustus was your everyday ‘average Iosephus’ not too fit, not too fat and was still soundly sleeping.

Prompto could easily break his legs, but it would be unnecessarily harmful to the sleeping photographer...

The killer could certainly hogtie him with the bedsheets and call it a day but what if Venustus couldn’t untie himself? The killer started looking around the house for more ideas and after 20 excruciatingly long minutes, during which Prompto feared to wake up his target, the killer came to the house bathroom and right over the sink a really inviting medicine cabinet was nailed to the wall.

Rummaging around a bit, Prompto found the perfect pillbox: ‘TEMAZEPAM POWDER’, the label said. The killer remembered all the hours of chemistry and poison resistance he had to endure and recalled really well the effect of said medicine: enough of it could knock out a full grown behemoth.

The only problem being that the target had to ingest the powder in some way, Prompto couldn’t just shove it down the sleeping man’s throat.

Going downstairs and looking in the man’s kitchen, the killer found the fridge almost empty except form a half-full bottle of milk. After a bit of deliberation, Prompto decided to empty the powder into the jug and hope that his target would have a late breakfast. If he didn’t, the killer could just choke him into unconsciousness and tie him to the bed.

Picking up a magazine from the table in front of the couch, Prompto hid under the target's bed and waited…

It was around 2 PM when that lazy worm decided to crawl out of his bed, Prompto almost wished the target didn’t drink any milk so he could ‘put to sleep’ the lazy bastard whit his hands. Prompto silently followed his target into the kitchen and waited for the man’s next choice: sweet drug-induced slumber or being not so gently choked to sleep?

Luckily for himself, Mr. Venustus drank all the remaining milk directly from the bottle. The photographer sat in front of his laptop and it only took a few minutes for the man to fall asleep on the chair.

Prompto carried his target back to the bedroom and unceremoniously threw him on the bed, given the quantity of milk the photographer drank he would be out cold for at least the best part of tomorrow.

only 1 target out of 3 and it was already 3:30 in the afternoon, he had to hurry up. Climbing back the same way he got in, Prompto ran for the for the subway once more.


	6. Doubts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucis has a weird effect, why is Prompto all of a sudden looking at his past differently than before? What changed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, what's this?  
> a new chapter on time?!?
> 
> I know, I know, I'm amazed too. B) 
> 
> thanks again for all the support, each kudos and each comment brighten my day immensely!
> 
> Please, enjoy.  
> -Jack

Prompto arrived at the station near the hotel at around 4 o’clock in the afternoon. According to her resume, Mrs. Innoxius lived quite near the station and it wasn’t hard to pinpoint her house on the map.

The woman lived in one of those public housing homes, in an endless maze of copy-pasted buildings. Checking her name on the intercom revealed Prompto she lived on the fourth floor, one floor from the top. Buildings here are relatively small, they grow bigger the more you get further from the walls and closer to the Citadel.

Prompto couldn’t pull the same stunt he did before with this home.

First: climbing four floors at this busy hour wasn’t discreet at all.

Second: he couldn’t even see how many people are in the house at this moment, he didn’t want to barge in on a family reunion.

Third: Prompto was starting to get tired: he ran around all day, climbed two floors and jumped a gap longer than himself, plus he didn’t have any gloves and a 4-floor fall can easily be fatal.

So reconnaissance it is! The killer completed countless contracts in the past, and his brain was out of habit already working on a little personal briefing.

Priority Objectives: gather Intel; find a route to the Area of Operation; incapacitate Mrs. Innoxius to take the interview by any mean; Exfiltrate undetected; Don’t leave any witnesses If things go south.

The killer found that the best way to look into his target’s windows would be to get on the top of a shorter building the opposite side of the road so he started to walk towards the smaller building’s open gate.

At this point Prompto was already in ‘work mode’, he allowed 0 just enough space to be lethal and silent without fully giving in and turning the whole block in a bloody mess of corpses. Swiftly, the killer climbed the stairs of the shorter building paying attention not to make any sound, moving in the shadows and watching for any movement or sound ahead and behind of him.

Through pain and repetitions his body was trained to be lethally efficient, he had the scars to prove it. Moving fast, low and watching for possible threats such as trip wires and cameras the killer reached the top floor only finding the door to the roof locked. Quicksilver would have no problems kicking it down but that would attract too much attention… Hard way it is then.

Flicking off the light switch and opening the window Prompto was hit by the evening’s cold wind ruffling his hair, luckily it was summer and the sleeveless clothes he had would suffice.

Turning his back to the window the killer sat on the windowsill looking upwards, to the roof. Even standing and extending his arms, a few centimeters separated the blonde killer from the edge of the roof.

Now: any other person would have made the most logical choice and tried to open the door in the quietest way possible but Prompto wasn’t ‘any other person’ and he really didn’t have anything to lose, except making his sister sad.

With the agility of a coeurl the killer jumped, back to the mortal fall and fingers shooting to grip onto the roof, only means to safety and without breaking a sweat, the killer pulled himself up on the top of the building.

The hitman didn’t waste time, as soon as he regained his bearings Prompto started to look for his target’s apartment. He could see three windows, all of three different rooms.

In the left one were a woman with a toddler and two older kids in what looked like a dining room lit by a bare lightbulb, walls ruined and stained.

So his target lived with other people, sons? They are speaking, with the youngest one moving his arms animatedly and smiling but Prompto didn’t bother to read their lips.

The second room was a kitchen, just like any other ordinary one. What caught the killer’s attention were a really nice set of knives sitting on the counter and a landline phone affixed on the wall, he was already formulating a plan of action.

The last window displayed a really small room with only the entrance door and a coat rack.

This will be easy.

Going back the same way Prompto got on the roof, he found himself in the foyer of the target’s building. Judging from a wooden booth with big windows this apartment building had a guardian, now absent.

The killer smirked as he found the keys to the apartment number 15 on a rack full of other keys. In the past Prompto infiltrated military bases, mafia headquarters, government buildings and what not but never a decrepit building and never so easily. This little side job will be even simpler than he thought.

Once climbed the stairs to the Area of Operation and unlocked the door, Prompto sneaked inside leaving the door open by just a little crack. Passed the first room, the killer found himself in the little kitchen, the chatter of his targets even stronger. The killer immediately walked to the knife block and extracted a shiny chef knife and a cleaver.

Nothing too difficult: disable the phone, get in, throw the chef knife at the older son and go to town on the mother with the cleaver. How hard could it be to dispatch the youngest sons afterward?

Prompto won’t lie, it wouldn’t be the first time for him to ‘dispose’ of an infant.

He didn’t like it.

No, he hated it.

The only solace he could find was by tricking himself that at least he can make it all painless when some other killer might make everything longer and agonizing but that’s an even bigger lie. There would never be ‘some other killer’ to hunt down a seemingly innocent family.

Prompto took a long breath, tightened his grip on the knives and was just about to kick the dining room door down when he heard the voice of Mrs. Innoxius, previously unheard, saying

“I’m sorry if that’s not much, but until I can find another job we will have to stick to vegetable stew, ‘that ok, Pumpkins?”

The killer stopped as if frozen.

“Yes, mom!” answered a cheery young voice.

“Is there some for you too?” the eldest asked.

“Of course, I will take some after you three are off to bed”

Prompto only heard that tone of voice once in his life, a long time ago. He was tasked to kill an old folk who apparently won a large sum of money but didn’t pay his debts.

* * *

Quicksilver approached him just as he got out of the car, barrel trained on the old man’s chest.

The guy didn’t try to run or to fight, he just sighed and asked: “are you here just for me?”

Prompto nodded.

“My family? Are you here for them too?”

The blonde shook his head.

Then the man did something the killer wasn’t expecting. He took his wedding ring in his palm, stared at it and said with the same hopeless, sad voice

“Go on, then.”

Prompto didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger, but this target managed to hurt the killer in a way he was never wounded before.

His hart hacked for the first time. He really preferred when his victims try to fight back, to kill him. Dealing with anger is always easier than resigning to bitter sorrow and waiting for death.

* * *

This time, the hitman was feeling the same thing. A pang in his chest, without understanding why.

His murderous plan immediately left Prompto, leaving him with just a sense of emptiness. The killer put back the cleaver and left quite the large sum of money on the counter, more than enough for the target to call a locksmith tomorrow, then he exited the house bringing the chef knife with him. In a flurry of anger and tears with no reason to exist, the killer slammed the door and jammed the knife in the lock, making sure to break part of the blade inside the keyhole before throwing the now useless handle.

Screw the silent approach and screw everything else, he felt the extreme need to hide.

So he ran and ran until Prompto climbed inside a dumpster in an alley near the building. The killer began to cry.

He didn’t know the reason but tears kept coming out of his eyes. He felt trapped in his own existence, was he really just a weapon? For maybe the first time ever the killer started having doubts about his job. If what his father burned in his memory is true he would already like to go into obsolescence and be thrown away.

Cindy is kind, maybe she would take him back in even after he becomes useless. Maybe he wouldn’t need to kill other people to feel alive. Maybe he could be like her and smile because he wants to, not because he needs to deceive people.

And with tons of other unanswered questions, the tired Prompto fell into sleep’s embrace.

The sight of a white fox-looking animal with a red crystal in his forehead was his only dream that night.

* * *

Prompto woke up sore, hungry and not understanding why his bed smelled of rotten fish. The killer climbed out of the dumpster and all of a sudden he remembered. The interview! The last target! The sun wasn’t up yet, if he hurried up maybe he could still make it in time.

Prompto shot off to the station, luckily finding it open. It was a few minutes short form 6AM when the killer reached the prince’s school, still empty. Running and simultaneously checking the map wasn’t easy, the killer found himself in a medium/high class neighborhood with a lot of thin and two or three-story houses. Prompto was dashing on the sidewalk reading the house numbers from the doors when all of a sudden he hit something, or better, someone.

Apparently, some blind fuck decided to step out of his house without looking for people in a hurry. Fucking Lucians.

Both Prompto and the passerby were knocked on the ground from the impact. The killer’s eyes grew huge as he looked at the loudly complaining man he bumped into.

The fat body, round face and spectacles…

It’s the same guy from the picture on the resume, the target, Mr. Ager!

Prompto didn’t have time to craft a master plan to prevent his target from reaching the Newspaper HQ, he had been spotted and as much as the street was empty they were still outside in the open.

The killer didn’t have much choice; he didn’t like to cause unnecessary harm but this was an emergency. Covering his face with his elbow as best as he could he delivered a swift kick to Mr. Ager’s chin before they could even stand up. The heavier man begun to howl in pain, apparently the kick wasn’t enough to convince Mr. Ager to take a nap.

The blonde hitman jumped to his feet, and as soon as he got up, he came back down delivering a punch shaped present to his target’s cheek. The hit and hitting his head on the pavement made Mr. Ager change his mind regarding the nap thing, and with a bleeding nose he passed out.

The killer’s heart was still racing as he struggled to lift the older man and dragged him in a really close by alley. So much for not risking police attention…

Prompto cringed as his fingers made contact with the sticky surface of the passed out man’s neck but he was soon relieved when he found a pulse. Quickly rifling through the target’s pockets, the killer took the fat man’s wallet and stripped him from the jacket. Not that Prompto needed money or clothes, but at least now this mess just looks like a robbery rather than a deliberate assault.

Experience told Prompto the ability of a hitman doesn’t only lie in perfectly executing a plan, quite the contrary. Rarely any plan is still viable after making contact with hostiles: a good killer manages to survive the lack of plan, a great killer adapts to the situation to comes out on top.

The sun was now creeping from above the buildings, coloring the sky with its orange hue. The killer couldn’t resist the urge to snap a picture of a skyscraper, which glass windows reflected a really calming pink color.

Prompto nearly had a heart attack checking the camera’s clock, his interview was in 20 minutes!

The killer: smelly from sleeping in a dumpster, with sore legs from running around all day and bleeding hands from climbing buildings and leaving his knuckles tattooed on some poor folk’s face; started running again towards the station, throwing the jacket and the wallet he stole on a sleeping hobo on the sidewalk once near the station.

Back at the newspaper building, everyone was looking at the dirty and panting blonde guy sitting in the foyer near a really disgusted secretary. The interview went smoothly, they asked pretty much what he had already written in the resume. They asked something about Tenebrae, his supposed place of birth. Prompto remained vague but managed to not look suspicious using some sort of watered down interrogation resistance technique he had learned from his ‘loving father and trainer’ in the past.

After no one came for the job interview -- Jeez, wonder why?-- the same guy who he spoke for the job told Prompto he was hired! His pay was really shitty, not even comparing it with how much he made as a hitman.

His ‘direct superior’ would be some journalist called Risus Clementis, Prompto would read the articles he was working on in advance and go snap relevant photos to insert in the journal. Easy, and it allowed the killer a bit of movement freedom. He would start tomorrow morning by meeting his superior and the building secretary would deal with the immigration office so that they would give the newly hired photographer a work visa.

Finally, Prompto could relax a bit and keep pushing it with the prince. If he managed to speak each time a bit longer with his main target, he could gain a bit of ground towards his final objective: getting some time alone with him and meanwhile solve the mystery of the crestfallen crown heir.

Most important of all, he needed to shower and get some clean clothes. Turns out sleeping in the trash doesn’t leave you smelling like roses.


	7. Breaking The Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things happen, new toys get acquired.
> 
> finally some important conversations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay, but this has been a hellish month.  
> first, my whole school got the goddam plague, then my family and finally me.  
> then my teachers decided that burying me with stuff to do was a nice idea and now I am THIS |_| CLOSE to actually exploding.  
> Therefore, I announce this fic won't be weekly anymore. I'll still try to publish a chapter a week/longer chapter every two weeks but these deadlines so close to each other really leave a mark on the (already low) quality of this fic. don't worry though, you'll hardly notice the difference. It's just easier for me not to have so little time to plan out a nice chapter
> 
> Thanks for the understanding, and enjoy.  
> -Jack

The killer arose in a good mood that day.

A couple of days went by since his little ‘side operation’: the police didn’t show up to his door, work was easy and his boss pleasant enough to work for. Now it’s quite usual for the photographer to stop at his target’s sushi shop to eat every day and he made sure to strike some small talk with the prince each time a for a little longer.

The only downside of his new job was that he had to wear a big jacket with ‘PRESS’ stamped on the back because his employer was hell-bent on him not taking any sick days and a cheap blue baseball hat with ‘INSOMNIA DAILY’ written in fancy characters on the front.

One Monday, coming back after a photo shoot of a new exhibition at the Royal Museum of Lucis, Prompto was sitting in his usual spot in the restaurant, the only table with a nice view of the counter and it’s ‘attention-grabbing’ cashier.

“The usual”

Announced the prince as he came from behind said counter, carrying the killer’s order. All of a sudden a huge crowd of people flooded the room. Dozens and dozens of journalists with cameras and microphones yelling something about peace talks and Lucis. The buff tattooed guy and some other kingsglaive tried to contain them near the door but they were pushing in like their life depended on it. Prompto even recognized some colleagues among them.

At first, Noctis watched with a resigned expression and hunched shoulders his bodyguards' useless efforts to keep the nosy press out of the small dining room while Prompto tried to hide his face so that to take no risks of being caught on tape if someone snapped pictures at the VIP bringing him his lunch.

The killer’s brain was already buzzing with ideas, this could be the perfect moment to make a quiet exit, to silently slip out of the place without grabbing any attention but instead, he came up with a really ingenious plan to actually proceed with his main objective, getting close with the prince.

The killer grabbed his target’s shoulder and not so gently slammed him in the seat opposite to him, throwing his jacket on the prince to cover the restaurant’s uniform and quickly putting on the royal's head the 'press' hat so to cover his face with the peak.

Noctis was astonished, his eyes the size of dining plates. He wasn’t expecting this, but at least he wasn’t resisting. Both the royal and the killer remained frozen on their seats as the crowd of journalists passed them and started spreading through the restaurant in search of their precious VIP.

Seeing these people tenacity, Prompto got up leaving a bill on the table, grabbed Noctis still dressed in his clothes and went for the exit. Luckily, the prince didn’t protest.

They were already in the streets and no one noticed Noctis was missing, what an excellent security detail…

Prompto gently pushed the prince inside an alley while looking if anyone was following them, once he assured their trail was clear, Prompto turned to his target.

It would be so easy to just snap his neck right now, quick and clean. His hands were already twitching in anticipation but he had to wait, a rookie mistake like this would easily cost him his life.

“You didn’t really seem keen on meeting those journalists” Prompto smiled

“Yeah, thank you. I can’t even be left alone when I’m working. So thanks again… I… think I never got your name actually”

“I’m Prompto, nice to meet you! And to actually speak to you somewhere not stinking of fish” replied the killer, trying to appear as friendly as possible

“My name is Noctis, by the way” apathetically said the prince.

“I figured that out dude, you are on the covers of half of the magazines out there!”

Then Prompto did something the royal apparently wasn’t expecting, he gave the prince a hard pat on the shoulder. At first, Noctis appeared confused but soon he dropped his usual bored expression in favor of a little smile.

Wanting to seize the opportunity, Prompto gambled.

“So, do you know any good place to get something to drink around here?”

The royal looked speechless for a moment, but then replied “Sure, just follow me. It’s only a few blocks away”

And they set off for the bar.

* * *

“So, you are not from around here?” asked the raven-haired man, picking up his drink.

“Nope, Tenebrae. I landed quite a nice job for the press and moved in around a month ago”

Prompto kept calmly sipping his coke but he couldn’t shake off the feeling of being watched. He was used to blend in with the crowd unnoticed, to slip in and out of anywhere without catching unwanted stares but since he was in the company of the prince, everyone was throwing sideways glances at them both. The killer didn’t like it.

“Now you gotta explain this to me” asked the blonde “How come the freaking crown prince works in a sushi shop?”

“Ah, that… Actually it’s my father that ‘convinced me’ ” sarcastically replied Noctis.

“I see… Well; you gotta do what you gotta do, I guess”

Just as Prompto lowered the glass on the table, the prince’s designated gorilla barged into the bar, quite evidently pissed off.

“Noctis, what in the 6’s name were you thinking disappearing like that!?” He yelled.

The tattooed man kept coming closer with fire in his eyes, followed by the Scientia’s icy gaze. Did they discover Prompto’s real identity? The killer’s thundering heartbeat made it hard to focus but he had to hatch a plan, and quickly.

Being part of the prince’s retinue meant that these people were among Lucis most skilled fighters. If he managed to eliminate the big man by surprise he could take Noctis hostage to get past Scientia and snap the royal’s neck as soon as he found a way out of the city. If he made it that far...

The glaive was close now, luckily he seemed unarmed. The killer grabbed his now empty glass ready to smash it on the table and to give the neck of the prince’s guard a nice handful of broken glass.

As soon as the man was in hand to hand range, he did something the killer didn’t anticipate. He grabbed the prince by the shoulders and spat “Do you realize there are three whole platoons looking for you?”

Angrily, the prince stood up and almost replied but was interrupted by Scientia coldly stating

“Your father is quite bothered by your behavior; he wishes to meet you at once. And we apparently need to have a heart to heart conversation later”

The prince reluctantly waved to Prompto, groaning as he was being brought away by his retainers.

The killer released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, he really needed a moment to calm himself. That situation could have gone so bad and Prompto was so tensed up he cracked the glass he was holding. The killer left the bar paying for both his and Noctis’ drinks and the damaged glass.

Prompto went to bed quite pleased with himself, he finally broke the ice with his target and he still had his head on his neck.

* * *

The morning after, the killer went to his new workplace and he had to admit: he liked working as a photographer. It was similar to using a scoped rifle but instead of recoil, after the flash only came the soft sound of the closing shutter, it was calm a calming activity.

And most importantly he wouldn’t have to duck under whistling bullets and run for dear life after the shot.

As usual, he was in the offices even before the secretary showed up. She was a scary, cursed witch-looking old lady, but deep down she was actually quite the caring and gentle witch-looking old lady. Prompto was only a low tier photographer, so he would just slide his card on a reader and look on an electronic board what pictures the journal needed and how much he would be paid for them, but there was never something serious for photographers like him.

Today, the most interesting task on the board was taking photos of a small military parade to happen in the main road of the city, from the biggest gate to just in front of the Citadel. This was a really nice occasion to actually see what he would have to fight against if his plan went downhill and what security measures the crown would take during this kind of public events.

The event was in the late afternoon and as long as he had a job booked up, the company policy allowed him to go wherever he pleased, the only condition being that the pictures were to be delivered on time. Since the killer had nothing to do, he decided to go back to the hotel and wait before going to the city’s main gate for the parade.

As Prompto was fumbling with his camera sitting on a comfortable chair in the hotel lobby, someone sat right next to him and said softly whispered “Mr. Argentum?”

Prompto raised his gaze to find sitting beside him a nicely suited man carrying a big and clunky suitcase with him.

The stranger simply nodded and got up to leave, leaving the suitcase on the floor. Prompto wasn’t new on the field, this wouldn’t be the first time that someone tried to kill him in such the lame way, the banal explosives-in-the-inconspicuous-suitcase? Really?

The killer simply grabbed the man’s wrist and took the suitcase opening it just a little, while cautiously looking at the man’s expression. The man didn’t seem extremely scared, just startled from the blonde’s sudden action.

The killer opened the suitcase a bit more and smiled, seeing a business card of the nightclub and the all too familiar logo of one of the biggest Niflheimian ammunition manufacturer. Letting the man go with a nice tip for being early, Prompto retreated to his room to inspect his package.

Just as requested, the killer found in the suitcase a nice, black 10mm handgun with a short, large and stubby suppressor.

Some fancy curved Lucian knife, the blade wasn’t that long but the curvature would make it easy to rip and tear the flash of any target.

A holster big enough to fit four magazines under one armpit and the suppressed gun under the other.

The grenades weren’t that special, Niflheimian military standard issue high fragmentation explosives.

Cartridges, zip ties and a binocular with a telemeter.

The plan was going smoothly.

The killer took his newly acquired gun and headed to the parade location to complete his task for the journal.

Prompto decided that instead of waiting with the enormous cluster of other journalists and spectators at the gate, he would set up on a nice tree near the citadel and snap away as the parade got closer.

A few hours of excruciating boredom later, Prompto was finally starting to see the rows of glaives and crown guards marching towards the citadel. Telling them apart wasn’t that difficult, the kingsglaives had much nicer uniforms, the only similarity was the deep black color both corps wore.

The killer had seen a few military parades in Niflheim but this was unlike anything he had previously spectated. Lucis didn’t have rows and rows of tanks and MT infantry units marching with their shiny rifles for show on their shoulder. Lucis forces were mainly made of blade-armed humans, with elaborately decorated swords, spears and daggers all bearing the skull and bones mark, the royal symbol. One oddity Prompto noted was that no solder actually had a sheat for their weapon…

The photographer’s wondering was soon interrupted by the loud cheering of the crowd, looking through the rangefinder of his old camera, Prompto spotted right on top of the Citadel stairs the king with his bodyguard, a white-haired guy with the ugliest buzz cut Prompto had ever seen accompanied by the prince’s retinue with Noctis himself.

Prompto didn’t really have any fitting word to describe him, he was wearing quite the sumptuous clothes: a black elegant suite with some sort of short cape, also black and fastened by golden chains on his chest. This attire really gave him a princely appearance, way different than the green apron he wore at work. His only presence demanding respect and attention. Something that really struck Prompto though was Noctis’ smile.

Prompto knew that smile. He had to wear it often himself.

The kind of smile that only masks your true intentions, the kind of smile easily disproved by your eyes, the kind of smile that leaves you hollower inside each second you have to hold it for.

Prompto used this kind of ‘mask’ to blend in but did a prince really have no reasons to smile?

The photographer’s thinking was again interrupted by a dreadfully familiar sound. The monotonous sounf of an approaching airship's engines.

Prompto threw himself on the ground, adrenaline numbing the pain from the fall. He drew his gun and hid it under his chest, waiting.

The killer knew he only had one chance of shooting down an airship, as soon as he was in the aircraft spotlight he would have to roll on his back and unload the whole magazine towards the cockpit hoping that this crappy pistol would be able to pierce the glass and to take out both pilot and copilot.

The seconds ticked fast but instead of the panicked screams of the crowd he was expecting to hear, he only heard people cheering harder as the hissing of the airship side hatch opened to reveal the same three people he saw in the diner at Hammerhead.

Prompto’s instinct was proven correct again, as this time the woman sported an impressively huge spear on the sheat on her back.

They were waving, was the airship part of the parade?


End file.
